


spectral recreation

by Star_less



Category: Ant-Man (Movies)
Genre: (minorly) - Freeform, Age Play, Ant-Man and the Wasp (2018) Spoilers, Comfort/Angst, Complete, Creative License, Crying, Cuddling & Snuggling, Diapers, F/M, Fluff and Mush, Gen, Minor Scott Lang/Hope Van Dyne, Non-Chronological, Non-Sexual Age Play, Not Beta Read, Not IW compliant, Omorashi, Pacifiers, Post-Ant-Man and the Wasp (2018), Pre Ant-Man and the Wasp, Scott Lang Needs a Hug, Scott Lang-centric, Scott-Centric, Some Plot, Spoilers, Thumb-sucking, To Be Edited, fuck the fingersnap, little!Scott, not AMATW post credit scene compliant, takes place during AMATW too, this was a one shot that turned into a 10000 word fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-20
Updated: 2018-08-20
Packaged: 2019-06-30 07:31:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 10,245
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15747141
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Star_less/pseuds/Star_less
Summary: No. He was done. He was done with all of this bullshit. It was… it was only meant to be a comfort thing while he was anxious. But now, the voices had gone and Janet had been yanked out of the Realm, so he had no need for any of this... this... stuff.While on house arrest for his crimes, Scott starts hearing voices in his dreams... or specifically *a* voice, a voice he doesn't quite know - a voice from another realm entirely. It freaks him out, and in a desperate search for a solution, he's pushed toward an alternative cure. Enter Hank Pym and Hope Van Dyne, who throw the whole thing into jeopardy.He's programmed to replicate your daily routine. Nine hours in bed, five hours in front of the TV, two hours in the bathroom, whatever that's about.





	1. one

**Author's Note:**

> This fiction contains spoilers for Ant-Man and The Wasp; and will do so until the fiction is complete. Do not read if you do not want to be spoiled!

There wasn’t an awful lot you could do on house arrest. Scott found that his routine had, ironically, become as regimented as his routine in prison would have been.  
Wake up.  
Eat breakfast.  
Watch the amazingly shitty daytime television America had to offer - most likely while haphazardly spooning Froot Loops into his mouth.  
Bath in the evening. Scott was surprised to find that his regularly scheduled bath times had quickly become comforting - and what had started out as a quick ten minute ‘I’m-Bathphobic’ scrub had currently unwound it’s way to half an hour of blackcurrant-scented bubble bath bliss. 

(Yes, he did use some of Cassie’s Frozen bubblebath when his own was running low; sue him.)

Then the whispering began. 

It started off slow, quiet - barely intrusive as he sunk beneath a mound of gorgeously hot blackcurrant scented bubbles; the kind that tickled his nose and crept up to his ears. _“Hello, jellybean,”_ a voice cooed - a voice that was much too tender, too soft, too high to be his own. In fact… it almost sounded like… the voice of a mother.  
Maternal.  
Loving.  
Not his own.  
_“How I’ve missed you.”_

Instantly, Scott’s eyes snapped open expecting someone - anyone - to be standing before him. In lightningly quick time he scanned the bathroom, despite being pretty sure that he was the only one present. His heart had started thumping with panic, and only after he had ascertained that he was alone did it begin to subside. It… was probably nothing. He had been on house arrest for a while now, anyway. Perhaps the silence was… messing with his ears, or something. Perhaps he was so lonely he’d invented up a whole new imaginary friend for himself, like he did when he was a little boy alone in the corner of the playground. 

He drained the tub a little earlier than planned, just in case the voice came back. 

Unsettlingly, the voice came back the next night - on cue, just like the rest of his routine. He had just sunk under the bubbles (banana, this time) and closed his eyes when the voice returned. _“Jellybean… you looked so pretty today.”_  
Still as soft and as slow and as loving as ever — only this time, accompanied by a face. A face that was framed by feathery hair and eyes that lit up with love, reaching out into the empty void of his dream as if to stroke his hair. As calm as the face looked, Scott was still unsettled. He jumped awake in the tub with a gasp, crying out, ‘what do you want? Go away!’ only for his words to fall flat and silent in the empty bathroom. 

He jumped out of the tub and, dripping, went toward his bedroom. Somewhere along the way his thumb went toward his mouth and was held there - a movement he’d learned (and long since repressed) from childhood. It comforted him enough for the panic to dissipate… and for him to come to the realisation that he had been sat on his bed not for ten minutes as he originally thought, oh no, but for half an hour staring into space on the verge of sucking his thumb. 

The voice came back the next night.

Then it came back the night after that.

It came back for a fifth night, and so Scott dropped his evening baths for an extra hour or two in front of Netflix in the hope of warding it off. He puddled on the couch, curled up as tight as he would go even though the newest season of _Orange is the New Black_ was blaring on his TV.  
The voice.  
He was going to hear the voice again.  
He was terrified of hearing the voice again. She bit at his ears and whispered words down them night after night after night. She had never told him that he was crazy - in fact she seemed preoccupied with telling him he was her ‘jellybean’ - but surely by dint of him having her around he was going to be branded some… some psycho? Unfit for looking after Cassie?  
Scott hoped that by shielding himself off, the voice would leave. After a night of near silence, Scott began the slow (and very much relieved) trek to his bed. Yes. She… _it_ … was gone.

Until he curled up under the covers and shut his eyes.

_“Oh, jellybean. Would you like to play hide and seek?”_

Scott shot up in bed, thumb instinctively pressing into his mouth. “No!” He cried, his eyes growing wet before he could stop them; his heart quickening in his chest, his breaths picking up, the hand that wasn’t in his mouth clawing wildly at the thin air. “No, I- I told you to go away!”  
His voice didn’t come out as threatening as he’d hoped - in fact, it just came out sounding downright childish, especially since he was all choked with tears and his thumb was stoppering up his mouth. It seemed to work, though - the voice faded away.  
Only when his overactive mind appeared to fall silent did he lay down, tears glistening wet on his lashes.  
He slept peaceful and uninterrupted by his spectral friend for the rest of the evening, and woke with itchy tear tracks down his cheeks, hair mussed up — and his thumb firmly lodged in his mouth, damp from where he had sucked at the tip, a thin line of drool running from one corner of his mouth. 

Shit. 

Maybe he should talk to someone about this.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comments and kudos appreciated; I'm kinda rushing these up atm but I will neaten them later. I was so nervous about posting this.


	2. two

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Scott talks to his therapist.

Taking a deep breath, Scott settled down in front of his computer as the Skype jingle played softly in the background. He tried to mull over the best way to broach this subject with his therapist.  
_‘I think I’m going insane.’_  
No, perhaps not.  
_‘I think I’ve gone crazy.’_  
Hm.  
Something else Scott had learned from his being on house arrest was that Skype therapists were, 99% of the time, quacks. He had been advised to get one at the beginning of his arrest, and had blown nearly $340 on three separate therapists whose advice had boiled down to, ‘buy this sketchy herbal medication from Slovenia and hope for the best’. The therapist Scott finally felt comfortable with was… slightly less of a quack than the previous three, and that was good enough for him.  
But… there was no easy way to tell your therapist that you’re toying with the idea you might be a borderline schizophrenic, quack or not, because that meant admitting it to himself first.

“Hello, Mr. Lang,” the brittle voice of his therapist tore Scott from his thoughts. Scott watched the bundle of pixels and moon-spectacles shift around on the screen and sighed. “I’ve started hearing voices. I think being on house arrest is messing with my head.”

In truly quack-tastic fashion, Scott’s therapist had deduced that the jellybean-loving voices he was hearing were due to anxiety, and what had he tried to calm that down? Everything, Scott had exclaimed, despite the fact that even the faintest whisper had his heart racing, he had tried everything and there was nothing more to do. ‘I wouldn’t be so sure of that,’ his therapist responded in that tone of voice that told Scott he was close to suggesting something outlandish, ‘but have you tried age play, it’s a play based therapy where you pull yourself back to a childlike persona and. . . .”

Diapers?

Bottles?

Onesies?

Scott wasn’t so sure. “Alright, thanks.” He said placidly, taking this advice with a huge grain of salt, and shutting off the computer. He was decidedly, deadly against this idea…

until his nightly bath rolled around and, as he sunk under the steaming hot bubbles, the voice returned. _“Jellybean!”_ She said, sounding joyous, _“I found you!”_

Scott snapped up from his bath immediately, eyes burning. “No. Nononono.” He pleaded with the empty bathroom, dancing and dripping warm droplets all over the floor. He began to pace, the breaths in his chest getting tighter. “I- I told you…” Somewhere along the way he had screwed his eyes shut, but tears seeped through nonetheless. “I told you to leave me alone.”

Perhaps… perhaps it was worth a try.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm not really sure if you tend to get given therapists on house arrest, in fact I doubt it very much, but hey, Lang's gotta get help from somewhere and if he can't leave the house... *shrug* 
> 
> Also, look at that handy plot device! ;)
> 
> Comments and kudos appreciated but by no means necessary.


	3. three

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Scott tries it out.

It started off as just a cuddle with a blanket.  
Diapers, bottles and pacifiers seemed a little too outlandish at first; so he settled for a blanket. Scott would bath as quickly as possible, climb out dripping wet, and then puddle on the floor wrapped up in his itchy blanket from the couch. Too scared to drift out to the front room in case he was spotted, he drew his knees up tightly and kept the small blanket draped over him fresh out of the tub. It... didn't feel quite right; the blanket was much too scratchy and uncomfortable for him to melt back into, and the cold tile of the bathroom floor was an unwelcome punch to the buttocks. Still, Scott tried his hardest to relax.  
The voice hadn't decided to pay him a visit while he was bathing, but as he sat there wrapped in the blanket, it returned. _"Oh, sweetheart, you have bubbles in your ears. Come here, let me help you."_  
The voice was so soft and so sweet and nurturing that - for a split second - Scott froze and very nearly melted back, expecting to be cocooned. In his mind, the lady reached forward as though to wipe his ears. Sub consciously, the tips of Scott's ears - still foamy with bubbles - began to tingle; he sank back, eyes closing, lips parted in an 'oh' expression accompanied by a softly drifting sigh. Almost instantly the cold frigid band of the bathtub brushed against his back and broke him from his trance; Scott's eyes snapped open and he returned to the familiar surroundings of the bathroom, shrugging the scratchy blanket off his shoulders and shaking the voice away from him at the same time. 

Though his first attempt was unsuccessful, Scott persisted. The scratchy couch blanket was nowhere near cosy enough to curl up into, so he got rid of that. He figured he wouldn't wrap Cassie up into it if he wanted her to cuddle up and rest, so he looked for a softer one. His Google searches led him to some plain fleecy comforters, but... but they didn't quite look nice enough. His gaze kept being drawn to the advertisements along the side of the webpage; a baby's fluffy comforter, blue, patterned with safari animals and a pastel yellow satin trim. Well... his therapist did mention something about babies... right?  
Scott stilled with hesitation, making sure no one was around even if he knew in the deepest darkest pit of his belly that he was very much alone. He checked, then checked again - then, in an impulse fuelled rush, clicked buy. 

It was odd to Scott just how excited he was to receive the blanket. He woke the next day with a belly full of butterflies feeling like a child on Christmas morning; a feeling that Scott hadn't felt since... well, since he was a child on Christmas morning.  
By the time his evening bath rolled around, he was the proud new owner of a plush fleece blanket covered in grinning giraffes, monkeys and elephants. Perched on the closed toilet seat Scott held the blanket around him as if it were a cape, rubbing the fleece between his thumb and forefinger. It was soft and soothing - brushed against his cheek the way a mother would, every inch loving and maternal. Scott's head drooped drowsily as he melted into his blanket. Not even the voice could pull him out of the slow sense of serenity washing over him. _"Hello, my jellybean,"_ she cooed, face bright with love as she moved forward as if to cup his cheeks. _"I've missed you so much."_  
In fact, Scott found that the mystery voice lured him further and further into... whatever this sense of calm was, with her softly crooning tones. "U- uh huh... jellybean..." he mumbled slowly, exhaustion stitched into his every word. The distance between Scott and the voice seemed to grow further and further and further

until..

until Scott woke up with a jolt still seated on the toilet, thumb firmly in mouth, new blanket slipping off of his lap accompanied by the gentle sound of late-night crickets chirping in through the window. Wha.. woah.. he had... he had lost track of time, there.  
Moaning to no-one in particular, the elder gripped his blanket tightly in one fist and stumbled off toward his bedroom, curling up with the blanket nuzzled just-so on his nose and dreaming of... whatever little boys dreamed of - animals and toys and cuddles with their mommy.

It started off as a cuddle with a blanket, but then crept in a pacifier too.  
It... it was a natural step considering he always seemed to have his thumb in his mouth anyway - or at least that's how Scott justified it to himself - but that didn't mean it didn't take Scott some getting used to. The first time he pushed the thick orange bulb to the tip of his tongue he spat it out again, spluttering around the horribly dry nub. It was... cold, dry and cold and nowhere near as tasty as his thumb was. But with the voices threatening to whisper into his ears again, he had no choice but to persist. Slowly, while he was sat with his safari blanket pooled around his shoulders, Scott guided the orange nub between his lips. His tongue pushed curiously against the bulb, getting a feel for it. Scott gave it an experimental suckle, cheeks flooding a nice shade of pink as the too-new nub squeaked a little, making him sound - and feel - rather like a small child.  
It... was nice, though - not too large and clunky in his mouth like his thumb tended to be. The man got into a steady rhythm of suckling and squeaking that; coupled with his blanket pulled tightly over him in just the right spot so the velvety trim rubbed at the bridge of his nose, lulled him off to a different world. Not quite like the realm, but not quite like his tiny bathroom in his tiny house in tiny suburban America, either.  
_"Oh, jellybean. Mommy misses you so."_  
This time when the voice came back, Scott wasn't scared. She sounded too far away to be real, too much of a whisper to hurt him - and this time, when he was feeling like... like this, soft and small and drifting away, her voice was as close to a hug he could get. "Mmmmhm.." Scott whispered, rubbing his eyes sleepily. 

It started off as a cuddle with a blanket and a pacifier and all of a sudden Scott Lang found himself diapered. He had gotten used to his vocal visitor now, and quite enjoyed his evenings in the bathroom - evenings that seemed to grow longer and longer as he lost track of where he was and had begun to feel... different, like he wasn't quite the big Scott Lang he'd tried to be, but rather quite small. Not.. not an 'I'm Ant-Man!' kind of small... a different kind of small. But even so, it wasn't enough to keep the voice out, like his therapist had said; so the natural progression was to just... keep on going, until the voice went away. Not that Scott had ever had an accident, you know, and he didn't intend on actually really using them... but he had Google searched and Google searched until he'd found some he liked all the same. They were white all over, and covered in pastel animals - lion cubs, bear cubs and fox cubs.  
Now, Scott had changed plenty of diapers while Cassie was a baby, and so he felt quite confident that he'd be able to change his own... until, of course, he unfolded it. It was... much bigger than Cassie's diapers used to be, and the tapes got all sticky and crossed over so that as he rolled it up his legs it rolled down almost immediately with a soft _whomp_. He whined at the crumpled diaper childishly, for want of a better response, and stepped out of it.  
Time for attempt two. 

Attempt two, rather than try and wrap the diaper around himself as he stood, involved Scott unfolding the pillowy material out over the closed toilet seat and lowering himself onto it. He lifted the front gently over his crotch and - slowly, carefully, with his tongue poking out in concentration - attached the tabs at each side so it cocooned around the back. It... was on. Shifting in the thick padding, Scott swallowed thickly. Despite knowing he was the only person in the house, he still felt as though he was being watched - as though Maggie or Cassie or that goddamned son of a bitch Woo was going to break in through the window and... and laugh at him.  
Aside from that pressing issue it... didn't feel that bad, in all honesty - it didn't cling on tight like his boxers did, and felt rather like he was sitting on top of a marshmallow. But it did nothing to alleviate the sense of humiliation bubbling in his stomach, nor the apple-red blush rushing to his cheeks. It felt as though every movement he made no matter how slight was enough to cause the diaper to begin to crinkle obnoxiously -- and the crinkling itself seemed to amplify to a mockingly loud volume in the tiny bathroom, mimicking a cackle. "No..." Scott moaned to himself in a whisper, shaking his head. "No, no, no, no. Not happening." Sighing, he ripped the tabs at the sides and let the diaper fall to the floor. 

Perhaps... perhaps for now he would stick to his blankie-- erm, blanket, and pacifier. At least they actually felt nice.  
He would work on the diapers. 

'Work on the diapers' was exactly what he did. Slowly, Scott's routine changed; what had started out as a thirty minute bath came close to two hours in the bathroom curled up with his blanket and pacifier - then, as he got used to it, a diaper. He got used to the voice, too, who still liked to check in with him every evening or so. Sometimes they would have a conversation, and Scott got very used to being called jellybean; the nickname that had once sent frosty fingers of fear down his spine now made something warm and glowing puddle in the pit of his belly. Diapers were strictly for bathroom time, although the blankie and pacifier bled over into his TV time in the evening; many a time had he woken up at 4am, slumped on the sofa, blanket falling off of him with the pacifier half hanging out of his mouth.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 0/100 real quick, people. I told you, this was a one shot. It got too long for me to give to you in one long chunk (that's what she said) so... here it is. I know going from wtf is this to 'yaaaas' in like,,,, six seconds,,, is unrealistic but shh. If I wanted to write a nice, fleshed out fic for all y'all, I would..... except I've already got my hands full with another Marvel fic *wink* so I can't just yet. Also, I haven't mastered the art of brevity. 
> 
> Comments and kudos appreciated, but not necessary.


	4. four

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hope makes a discovery.

They - and by ‘they’ we mean Hope and Pym - thought it best to sneak in an extra layer of surveillance on Lang for their own peace of mind while the ex-con was on house arrest. It was Hope who ended up with the thankless task of surveying just what Lang did to amuse himself while he was imprisoned in his own home (her father ‘much too busy’ developing the tunnel to the Realm); and thus began the many hours of watching Lang go through the same mundanities every day of the week.

It amused Hope to no end when she noticed that, rather like a tiny worker ant, Lang had his own routine. He would have nine hours sleep, give or take, and wake for breakfast which usually ended up being a bowl of Froot Loops. He would spend five hours in front of the television watching so very many highbrow television programmes ( _America’s Next Top Model_ was a favourite, as was _Dance Moms_ , and _Say Yes To The Dress_ ) before taking himself off to the bathroom - rinse and repeat. Occasionally he would have Cassie over, which meant that his weekends became a flurry of pink, sparkles, princesses and superheroes; although there was only so much that he could do to entertain Cassie in his own home, Hope guessed, which was why she was such a rarity to his surveillance footage. This exact routine unwound itself and carried on merrily for a sweet, slow month and two weeks; by which point Hope had given up on scrutinising every second of Lang’s surveillance footage in favour of helping her father develop the Pocket Realm. Besides, she had a bug placed on Lang’s footage so that if he happened to deviate from the usual routine - which was, in all probabilities, extremely unlikely - she and her father would know. 

Hope was so sure that this was an exceedingly unlikely event that she threw herself into helping her father develop the realm. Imagine her surprise when, strolling around the lab one day, she was confronted with an aggressive beeping that could only mean one thing. 

"What the hell?" Hope muttered, sinking into a chair close to the monitor and bringing up Lang's surveillance feeds. The mainframe was flashing red, indicating that he was spending more time than usual in his bathroom - close to two hours, when usually he spent about half an hour. The young woman frowned slowly, cursor hesitating whether to open the feed into Lang's bathroom. After all, Hope wasn't too interested in Scott's bathroom habits; most likely he'd gotten carried away singing along to Livin' on a Prayer or was doing something she'd rather not see him doing. On the other hand, two hours was a tad extortionate... sighing (and squeezing her eyes shut, just in case) Hope clicked. She was thrown into a live feed of Lang in his bathroom, mumbling softly to himself. Deciding it was safe to peek, Hope slowly opened her eyes - then, as it registered a little too late just what she was looking at - they widened in surprise.  
Lang... Lang was stood in the middle of his bathroom; dressed, but with what appeared to be a pacifier in his mouth. Silently, he took a folded up blanket patterned with safari animals from where it was resting atop the laundry basket, wrapping it tightly around his shoulders. He curled up on the rug and closed his eyes, suckling peacefully.  
_What the..._ shaking her head, Hope clicked off of the live feed. Wondering if it was crossed wires, she clicked in again; but no, she was immediately confronted with that same feed of Lang, curled up in his bathroom sucking at a pacifier. Quickly, she clicked off. That... was enough Scott surveillance for today... perhaps tomorrow's footage would be slightly less weird. 

It turned out that no, the footage for the next day was more of the same - a two hour stint in the bathroom that looked as if it was slowly going to become part of Lang's daily routine. In fact, the footage for the next day and the day after that were very much the same; although it wasn't long before a diaper joined the pacifier and the blanket, to the point where Lang was beginning to look like a giant baby.  
The icing on top of the diaper-cake though, as it were, was when he completed the look by pulling himself into a blue safari animal romper, matching the blanket. Hope shook her head at this, but couldn't quite keep a fond smile from playing on her lips. This was weird, and Lang was weird - 'dressing up as a giant baby', weird, anyway - but... hey, if it kept him out of trouble with the law, then... who was she to complain?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> have you seen a diaper cake? they exist. they aren't made out of actual cake, though, they're made out of diapers. 
> 
> Comments and kudos are appreciated, but not necessary; although for every one kudos I get, you get a diaper cake, which I think is a fair deal.


	5. five

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> a realisation.

Scott knew something was wrong when someone else joined his vocal visitor in the evenings; someone else who was small and sweet, hair all neatly tied back in sparkly ties and bubblegum bows - someone who reminded him too much of Cassie, yet he saw himself in them, too. At first, he didn’t want to own up to it. Owning up to it would mean losing blissful hours of baby time, so Scott did what any other respectable three-and-a-quarter year old would do.

Cry. 

“No!” he bawled as he curled up and was interrupted by jellybean lady and her kid, spitting his pacifier from his mouth he was so enraged. “No! I don’t want you here! Go! Go away! Leavemealoneidontlikeyou!”   
He screamed until his throat was raw and his nose ran clear, snotty liquid all over his lips and his onesie. He screamed and yelled and kicked - and then, tired, curled up with his head bowed toward his knees and his hands cupping his ears - as if that would stop the duo from creeping in and whispering to him all night long. 

It didn't; and so his visitors continued to torment him, although they didn't seem to be talking to him any more - rather, it was as though he was watching them from afar. He joined the big visitor, creeping over her shoulder as they danced around a strange house playing hide and seek; he joined the smaller visitor, clambering behind old shoes and trousers and flared blouses from the 80s in old hidden closets, 'they'll never find us here!'

Scott awoke from one of these dreams one morning with a jump; the aches radiating down his spine from where he had slept in a ball like a baby armadillo had finally gotten too much to bear. It had been like this for a little while; fall asleep a little boy playing hide and seek, wake up considerably more grown up with the realisation something was wrong.   
It... it wasn't Cassie he was seeing in those dreams... it wasn't Cassie and it certainly wasn't Maggie or his own mother that joined her; from what Pym and Hope had been telling him, the visitor started to bear an uncanny resemblance to Janet Van Dyne... which meant that the little girl that followed after her was... was none other than Hope Van Dyne herself.   
Catching sight of himself in the bathroom mirror (with his knotted, straggly hair, drool covered face, and a romper that had gotten twisted and unsnapped at some point during the evening) he knew what he had to do.

"Pym," Scott murmured shakily, hands trembling, trying desperately to hold back the little boy who was close to coming to the fore screaming and kicking with fear. He had pulled himself together somewhat, torn off the diaper and onesie and replaced them with some more respectable more adult clothes. The pacifier had taken a little more psyching up to get rid of; despite being fully dressed and looking very much the part of grown up Scott Lang, he was having a little difficulty believing it himself. "Pym, we have a... a problem. I... I just had a really weird dream. And I know that doesn't sound like an emergency or anything, but it just felt... Very real. I was back in the Quantum Realm, and... I think I saw your wife."


	6. six

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> how to whizz through one movie's action in 1284 words.

Scott woke up still so deliriously drowsy. He stared through long lashes and tried to map out exactly where he was. He was moving; the clenches in his belly told him that. He... pausing, the younger mouthed slowly, trying to work out if he had his pacifier... no, he didn't have his pacifier. A quick, sleepy fumble to his body and... and whatever he was lying on, caused him to deduce that he didn't have his blankie, either. 

Oh, well. Back to sleep it was, then. He whimpered uncomfortably at the fact his pacifier was gone, but stuffed his thumb back into his mouth and suckled at it. Vaguely, he remembered that there was an episode of Winnie the Pooh on the Disney Channel in.. in... well, it was a long time away, yet. Scott hoped didn't miss it, at least. 

"Good." Hope muttered, shaking his arm, "You're awake. Sit up."

Ah. It turned out that perhaps Winnie the Pooh would have to wait. Hope yanked him out of little space effortlessly, and he slowly sat up with a rub to the temples. Coming out of little space wasn't the easiest of tasks; his head spun, exhausted, as he sat up.   
Stared.   
He was... in a van?   
"Hope?" he croaked, looking to her, eyes flushed with worry. "Is this another dream?"

The look she gave him shot pure fear into his heart and told him that no, this was not a dream, and to cut the bullshit, Scott Lang. In all honesty Hope had seen plenty of... whatever Lang's newest, baby-patterned pastime was from his time under surveillance. She had... no feelings toward it either way, but she didn't want him to bring it over into the rest of his life, - or more specifically, she didn't want it to concern her at this particular moment in time. "Do you think it's a dream?" she snapped, all brittle and sharp as though she'd swallowed a shard of glass and spat it back at him again. "Or is it possible that you really saw my Mom down there?"

"I- I don't know!" Scott whined, her words piercing the fragile wall between his big self and his little. His eyes blurred with tears but he forced them away, gaze focusing on the bracelet on his ankle. "I--!" His eyes widened and, taking a deep breath, he nudged her hopelessly. "I can't be here! I can't be, I'm under house arrest! You have to take me home. They... they can show up any second!"

Hope rolled her eyes. "Relax. As far as your nanny cops know, you're still at home. We have a bug. Programmed to replicate your daily routine. Nine hours in bed, five hours in front of the TV, two hours in the bathroom, whatever that's about."

At this Scott blanched, face a delicious mix of pink and white. "Don't know what you mean." He sulked, words coming out too punchy for them to be believable. Thankfully for him, Hope chose not to react, and Scott assumed that she didn't know about his baby time after all.

Actually... it turned out that the entirety of Scott's secret bathroom baby time, never mind just half an hour of Winnie the Pooh, had to be put on hold as Hope thrust him into some organised chaos of epic proportion. First, it came to light that Pym and Hope had completed work on the pocket to the realm, although it was slightly unstable. Then, it transpired that Janet was using Scott as some sort of vessel, hence Scott's continuous visits from her, and - most importantly - was saveable. Pym and Hope's creation of the pocket realm entangled the trio in Sonny Burch's business, and got them yanked out of the clutches of Ava Starr's alter ego, the Ghost; culminating in Pym, Janet and Scott dipping into - or, in Janet's case, out of - the Quantum Realm. It was an adrenaline fuelled whirlwind; so much so that Scott didn't have any time to think about being little - even if he really wanted to be. Sure - there were times that it bled through - like when there was a quiet moment in the van and Scott, the size of a middle schooler due to his malfunctioning suit, was being (gently) ribbed by Pym. "Missed your afternoon nap, champ?" The elder jeered lightly, "D'you want a juice-box and some string cheese?"  
Jeez. Scott rubbed his eyes lightly while mumbling that he had indeed missed his afternoon nap because Hope had woken him prematurely, and that string cheese was his favourite snack and so was a juice-box, especially the Star Wars apple juice from the store - Cassie and him had tea parties sometimes where they'd pour it into teacups and giggle and drink as if they were in presence of high royalty - and and and how did Pym know that?!  
Scott's eyes were alight with glee to the point where he didn't notice the look of confused disbelief on Pym's face, or the fact that Hope was biting back a laugh, and entirely missed it when Hope leaned over and whispered, "He gets like this sometimes."

Scott's changed attitude was Pym's sole decision in making Hope personally escort the man home. By the time it was fine for the heroes to disband - that was, with Janet safely out of the realm, Ghost banished, and Scott free from house arrest, he seemed to be almost... back to normal. All traces of that youthful sparkle in Lang's eyes or the slow, sweetly childish lilt to his voice had disappeared and, as Hope walked along the streets to Lang's suburban home, there was a clear crackling of tension in the air, 'you-don't-need-to-look-after-me' shaped tension; but it simply wasn't worth the risk. Pym had theorised that Scott's prolonged exposure to the realm was partly responsible for his change in demeanour, and deduced they were both very lucky that Mom had returned largely unscathed.  
Scott slouched, hands firmly pressed into his pockets, gaze thrown to his feet where he was kicking pebbles as he walked. Silently - like his shadow - Hope followed him. "So. Whatcha gonna do now you're a free man?"

Scott didn't seem to hear her, gaze trained on his sneakers. Hope cleared her throat - something which he tuned into straight away. "Hm?" he asked distantly; although he had heard her perfectly well and, embarrassingly, his first thought was that he could finally snuggle up and watch Winnie the Pooh with his blanket. "I don't know," he chose to say instead, "Have a sleepover with Cassie, eat icecream until we puke."  
A faint smile of glee played on his lips and something sparkled in his eyes; something that made Hope smile too. "Sounds like fun." she agreed as they came to a slow stop outside of Lang's front door. Lang, nodding, fumbled to get his keys. 

"Don't overdo it." She told him - positively delighting in the fact that those three simple words set a blush alight on Scott's cheeks. 

"I'm a responsible parent, Hope," he murmured, near-affronted, though she was sure he was pretending.

"Sure you are. That's why you need me to keep you in check." she chided. Scott positively scoffed at this, although Hope wondered if he secretly thought it was true. She saw him shifting on the doorstep and stilled, moving back slightly. Scott cottoned on and nodded. "Go, Hope. Make up for lost time with your mom. Eat icecream until you puke." he encouraged, a twinkly cheeky smile stretching over his face. 

Hope chuckled. "Alright. But I mean it, I'll be over in a few days. I'm keeping check on you." 

Scott scoffed, and Hope wasn't too sure if he believed her.


	7. seven

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> that post-realm aftershock really is a son of a bitch.

"two hours in the bathroom, whatever that's about," was about as subtle Hope could admit, 'yeah, I've seen you in your bathroom in an oversized diaper sucking on a pacifier'. Scott's... unusual bathroom antics were the only things preventing her from removing their surveillance on the ex-con, in fact. She didn't peer in very often now that Scott’s house arrest was over and Mom was back… because, c’mon, that was weird, and whatever Scott was doing was weird - but it somehow felt a lot more necessary when they had pulled him out of the Quantum Realm a second time and his mind was... considerably more fragile than usual. She had come close to shutting down his surveillance feeds at least three times now, but something needled in the back of her brain, made her hold back.  
It was just... basic after care, she told herself, it didn't mean anything. 

That was when she began to notice the change.

Pre-Quantum Realm, Scott seemed to settle down in the bathroom quite happily, wrapping himself up in a diaper, that onesie that snapped at the crotch and a giant oversized blanket covered in safari animals.   
Post-Quantum Realm, all of that had disappeared; and quite rapidly, at that. Now, that wouldn't necessarily be a bad thing... although judging by Scott's demeanour, it was to him. He had gone from spending a comfortable hour and a half - or two hours, or maybe even more - in the bathroom... to wandering around the house looking more than a bit lost, sucking his thumb. 

Hope was very much right; Scott didn't know what to do with himself. His mind felt as though it had been ripped apart and stitched back together piece by piece, and that really fucked up a person. The day after he had been pulled out of the Realm for a second time with a throbbing head and hazy dreams he wanted nothing more than to snuggle down into his blanket and suckle on his pacifier until the pain went away. The second he'd got himself through the door, that was exactly what he did.   
He slid himself into a diaper and wrapped it up tightly each side.   
He pulled a onesie over his arms and legs, buttoning up the snaps.  
He pulled a pacifier from his hiding spot and nudged it into his mouth.   
So... what was wrong, exactly? It was usually around the time that he plopped his pacifier into his mouth and started to suckle on it that all of the grown up thoughts in his mind began to drift away, that the bathroom around him drifted away to nothing and he spent a blissful handful of hours drifting deeper and deeper into littlespace, sucking quietly at the pacifier and snuggling deeper into his blanket so it rubbed at his cheek the way he liked. Except, well, now he just felt... painfully aware of what he was doing and where he was and what he was... a pathetic, sick, freak. No matter what he did - 

whether he put a diaper on -

_disgusting, pathetic waste of space_

or pulled a snappable onesie on top -

_what a repulsive excuse of a father you are_

the voices followed him, spitting venom in his head... he almost wished that Hope's mom, Hope's mom with her softly comforting voice and her, 'hey there, jellybean' would come back, even if he knew now that she wasn't speaking to him. Perhaps… perhaps that was it - now she had gone, things had to go back to normal. But… but he didn’t want things to go back to normal - he enjoyed the comfort he got from his baby time.  
The voices only went away when, angrily, he tore off his onesie, let the diaper roll to the floor with a crinkled plop and stuffed himself into big b-- normal clothes, normal clothes that had scratchy tags and pulled in too tight and were too clingy in all the wrong places.   
No. He was done. He was done with all of this bullshit. It was… it was only meant to be a comfort thing while he was anxious. But now, the voices had gone and Janet had been yanked out of the Realm, so he had no need for any of this... this... stuff. He was a grown man, for goodness’ sakes.   
Gathering all of the items - the pacifier, his diapers, his blanket and onesies - he scooped them into a large trash bag and tossed them out on the roadside for the garbage disposal.

Sure, he regretted it about a fraction of a second later, but forced himself to head back into the house while every nerve in his body screamed at him to turn back. Cassie was his only priority; she was the baby - his baby - in all of this. 

Not him. 


	8. eight

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Scott gets into a spot of bother; Hope steps in.

"Lang?"

Hope stepped through the door to Scott's apartment - unlocked, worryingly - and winced. What a mess. 

She had tried to keep in touch with him now that he was at home, but he didn’t seem to answer her; so as a last resort she had been keeping an eye on his surveillance feeds hoping to see some semblance of Scott taking care of himself - even if it was in that weird, babyish way he tended to enjoy. But there was nothing, nothing aside from the slow beeping of the mainframe that indicated to her that Scott’s routine had changed. It.. certainly had; it was pitiful for her to see him wandering around the house aimlessly, drooling around his thumb. The house had been thrown into darkness, and there was no Cassie in sight. He was in a stained, crumpled romper. It was nothing that Hope hadn’t seen before; but it was what pushed Hope into paying Scott a home visit as she had promised.   
And… well. She had toyed with the idea of the house being worse for wear - but this was... something else.   
Upon immediately entering it was clear that the lights were blown - the house was in darkness. There were spilled drinks all over the coffee table and floors; what looked like (and smelled like) milk that had started going rotten. Empty cups were strewn all over the floor along with cereal boxes spilling out stale Froot Loops. The sofa cushions were pulled apart. The television was blaring out some luridly coloured children's programme that she suspected was a little bit too young to hold ten year old Cassie's interest.   
There was no sign of Scott.   
Hope cleared her throat. "Scott?" she repeated, moving through to the kitchen. Again, there was no sign of the man, although the kitchen was in a similar state of disarray - with more spilled drinks.. or at least what Hope prayed were drinks and weren't suspicious puddles, atop the floor and kitchen counters. The sink was full of soggy cereal and what looked to be mushed up broccoli.   
With some hesitation in her step, Hope moved toward the bathroom. Scott liked to camp out in the bathroom when he was doing... that weird thing he tended to do. Perhaps he was in there. Silently, the woman made her way to the bathroom and peered inside. Scott, and his items, were nowhere to be found. The floor in this room was positively sodden with what Hope realised was certainly not a spilled drink, judging by the smell. Aside from that, the room was pristine -- nowhere near the 'baby's daycare' it had once been.   
Yet, still no sign of Scott. That meant there was only one more place he could be. Hope eyed the door to Scott’s bedroom. It was open slightly, letting out the thinnest chink of light. It almost felt like an intrusion to burst in on him like this... but it was aftercare, Hope told herself, it was necessary after he had been pulled out of the realm and, erm, definitely had nothing to do with what she had seen while Scott had been under surveillance. “Scott?” Hope repeated slowly, softly, “Are you in here?”

With no response, Hope slowly pushed open his bedroom door and stepped inside. The scene that awaited her caused her to still, taken aback. It wasn’t so much his surroundings - they were the same as the others, all dimly lit and encrusted in a week’s worth of cereal, juice, and candy wrappers. Having seen this scenario room-to-room Hope was unfazed - it was the sight of Scott himself that shocked her. Not so much that he appeared to have further mentally regressed - that was a given, Dad had said, due to his prolonged exposure in the realm and really they were lucky that Mom had escaped largely unscathed - but that their surveillance seemed not to show the true extent of Scott’s mentality.  
He was sat up in bed with the duvet pulled around him only feebly. His hair stuck up in all directions, his face was a mosaic of red and pink, his eyes swollen with tears. “‘ope?” he asked feebly, thumb firmly in his mouth - he stopped sucking at it enough for him to speak, and the second he was finished speaking the suckling resumed. His voice was slow and cracked as if he hadn’t used it in a while, or had spent a lot of time crying. 

“Yes, Scott.” Hope said, making her way into his cocoon and creeping closer to him. Hell, Hope realised it wasn’t even the fact that Scott looked so dishevelled that bothered her - it was the fact that he looked so much like a child. His big blue eyes, all glossed over with tears, suddenly seemed to hold so much... childlike innocence in them that he hadn’t had before. Hope had to resist the growing urge to call him, ‘sweetheart’. “It’s me. What’s the matter? What’s going on, hmm?”  
Despite not wanting to call Scott sweetheart, Hope found her voice had drifted to a softer, more comforting tone all the same. She couldn’t not - Scott looked as though he would bawl if her voice went any higher than a whisper.

Scott shifted uncomfortably in his heavy blankets and looked around his confines, clearly too overwhelmed to explain. He keened around the heaviness in his throat, stray sobs breaking free, his sucked thumb coming from his mouth and promptly balling into a fist to wipe his wet face with. 

Hope was swiftly beginning to realise that something was wrong, something was very wrong. “Oh Scott, sweetheart, don’t cry.” she whispered, darting forward and lifting him into her embrace. There was nothing less she could do for Scott right now. If she had rejected him, she knew it’d only push him further away.

Scott couldn’t remember the last time he had been given a cuddle like this - or if he had, ever - at least while he was feeling... as tiny as this. He buried his tear stained face into Hope’s shoulder and sobbed, quickly getting the woman’s sleeve snotty and wet. She pulled her arms around him and lifted him up, and might’ve ‘oh’ed in shock at the fact that his bottom was sodden, but Scott couldn’t hear her as he continued to pitifully cry into her shoulder.

”Come on, Scott, come on,” Hope said and could only pray that her tone didn’t sound too helpless as she carried the crying young man toward the bathroom. “Let’s go and get you into some fresh clothes.”  
She carried him silently toward the bathroom. Scott, though he didn’t say much, slowly stopped his crying and clung onto Hope, fisting the fabric of her t-shirt in one hand as his cries reduced to gentle sniffles... so she must’ve been doing something right. In the bathroom, Hope tried her hardest to ignore the offensively pungent smell of ammonia, plopping Scott down onto the closed toilet seat. “Look at the mess you’ve gotten yourself into, Scott, sweetheart.” She reprimanded not-unkindly as she lifted his t-shirt over his head. Obediently, Scott lifted his arms up to help Hope, worrying his lip between his teeth slightly. Getting his soaked sweats and undies off was a little more difficult, but with a stern, ‘bottom up’ they managed - and got a quick (cold!) wipe down squeezed in too. It did cross Hope’s mind that crouched down in Lang’s bathroom helping him pull his sweats off and seeing him totally nude wasn’t the most normal of situations, but Lang clearly wasn’t in the right mindset to be able to do this by himself.

Sat obediently bunched up on the toilet seat, Scott shivered and waited for Hope to instruct him. His tummy was feeling a bit ticklish, as though he had a lot of feathers there, and the feathers tickled all along his boy bits too. Suddenly, the room was filled with the sound of strong tinkling. Scott’s eyes widened in surprise, but he stretched out with relief all the same. “Potty.” He cried to Hope with a mix of surprise and awe. He couldn’t really remember the last time he had actively got to the toilet on time without peeing all down his legs or (what he had got used to) simply waking up soaked. Hope was still as she heard this, partly in shock at… well, just how distant the real, the adult Scott Lang seemed to her in this moment; partly having nothing to say to that, as it was blatantly obvious he was emptying. She nodded at him, for lack of better responses, and waited in silence until the tinkling had subsided.   
Instinctively, as it slowed, Scott reached out for Hope to lift him up, and so she did. “Where are your diapers, pumpkin?” she asked calmly, recalling the surveillance footage had Scott wrapping himself up in the comically large garments. 

Scott’s face crumpled a little. “Gone.” he said.

”Gone?”

Scott took a little while to think this response over - Hope could see all those gears turning in his brain as he tried to work it out. "Big Scott threw them all away." he eventually explained. He was unusually calm, although his lip was doing that tell tale quiver that meant potential tears.

Ah. Scott Lang, ever the idiot. Hope didn't quite understand why she hadn't thought of that one. "That's okay, sweetheart, we can get you some more. No throwing these ones away, though, right? Only when they're yucky."

Scott shook his head owlishly, fidgeting on the toilet seat. 

Hope nodded and stood, sternly instructing the newly... young? Scott to remain seated on the toilet while she got him some fresh clothes. He obediently froze as Hope rifled through his closet. None of the gorgeous onesies Hope had seen Scott wear while he was under surveillance were in here; just a few crumpled t-shirts. She chose one, grabbed the cleanest pair of boxers she could find (she was definitely not doing the sniff test on those) and returned to Scott - who was still obediently frozen on the toilet. "Oh, good boy," she cooed without thinking much of it. The praise, as faint as it was, made wisps of pride swell in Scott's tummy, and he wriggled happily. Hope managed to wrangle him into the boxers and t-shirt with little fuss; although Scott's head kept dropping as though it was too heavy for his shoulders, and his blinks grew longer and longer. "I think you need to get some sleep, Scott." Lord knows how much sleep he'd actually gotten while he was trailing around his house sucking his thumb leaving puddles behind him.

Scott didn't respond, a whine breaking free from his lips as he defiantly shook his head; yet at the same time, a yawn overtook him. Hope chuckled softly, scooping him up under the armpits. "Oh? Not tired?" she asked. Scott shook his head firmly again, although his movements were getting that telltale drowsiness as he buried his face into Hope's shoulders. Hope carried him back toward his bedroom in silence, adjusting her grip as he slipped away into full slumber (so much for 'not tired' there, Scott!) before dropping him gently into his bed.   
Scott shifted uncomfortably at the loss of warmth, drowsily fisting the fabric of his duvet, free hand lolling toward his mouth. Hope studied Scott for a moment; taken aback by just how young he looked as he laid there, puddled amongst the duvet - especially when his thumb found its way into his mouth and, for lack of pacifier, he began to suckle at it. A smile playing on her lips, Hope's gaze travelled from Scott to the absolute pigsty he was inhabiting. 

Right. She had work to do.

'Work' was a slightly cheatsy way to say, 'squirrelling away Lang's credit card and his laptop for an hour'... but it was work for Hope all the same. Her probing into his search history revealed that Lang had spent a considerable amount of time on the Tykables website, and had eventually ordered some diapers covered in pastel safari animals, along with the matching blanket she'd seen him cuddle up with - the blue one, with the satin silky trim; and one lone pacifier. He didn't have many rompers either - just the matching blue safari animal patterned one, and a red romper covered in stars and planets. Again. Scott Lang, baby or no baby, was an idiot. Hope made the mental reminder to ask Lang, when he aged up some, whether he thought he could care for his infant daughter using one packet of diapers, two rompers and one pacifier - and when he inevitably scoffed and said, 'no, of course not!' ask how the hell he thought he could care for himself with that amount.

Hope spent the next hour merrily clicking away on three separate websites, barely paying attention to the rising bill total - hey, it wasn't her money - until Lang was positively spoilt for choice. She had made sure that the basics were ordered in for same day delivery, so it wouldn't be too long before he was re-wrapped into a diaper... hopefully before he gave the bed another soaking, that was for sure. Satisfied, Hope shut the laptop and stood, looking at the time. 2:45. Good. In about an hour, two hours tops, this place was going to look like a daycare.

Lang wasn’t going to know what had hit him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> fun fact: this was the first chapter I wrote, after I came back from seeing AMATW on Wednesday last week


	9. nine

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> all's well that ends well.

The first thing that Scott tuned into was the fact that his legs were cold.   
The kind of cold where there was an icy chill nibbling it's way all the way up his thighs.   
It tickled.   
Scott was deep within a dream, deep and toasty warm, and as the fringes of cold hit him he burrowed further into his blankets with a small frown, whimpering drowsily. His eyes opened, let in the tiniest chink of light, then closed again. "Mmmnn.."  
His... his sheets were freshly washed. They... they smelled like baby powder and lavender... only serving to push him deeper into littlespace. But still it was cold. Confused, he batted his lashes and tiredly fisted the fabric of the duvet he was lying on, trying to pull the warmth back in. 

"Oh, I know you're cold sweetheart," a familiar voice crooned, her lips puckering in adoration. It took a little while for this voice to breach Scott's sleepy little brain; but then it did.   
Hope.  
Scott went stiff in realisation, darting away from the warmth of his freshly laundered sheets and backing as tightly as he would go against his headboard, eyes blown wide. "H- Hope!" he choked, in a voice that was much too grown up to feel like his own - all deep, alien and scratchy - to Hope as well as himself. Scott was sure he'd never pulled himself out of little space this fast before; his head was reeling. Whimpering, he rubbed one of his temples in confusion.   
Hope, all the while, was silent. Considering Lang had been talking to her as if he were a two year old just a short while ago, he was going to need some time to pull himself together. The pair sat in a silence that was only interspersed by Lang's whimpers, before he finally spoke up. "This... this isn't.. I haven't..." He started, looking lost with himself as each sentence fizzled out. Hope, again, said nothing - just gave him a gentle nod as if encouraging him to continue. Scott took a deep, shaky breath. "I don't remember letting you in."

"I let myself in. Just a bit of post-realm aftercare, don't worry. Besides - you were napping." 

Scott nodded, fidgeting with the duvet anxiously - rubbing it between his thumbs and forefinger as tears built up in his eyes. "Yeah." he said, kicking himself when his voice came out thick, as though he was on the verge of breaking down into tears. "Been... been doing a lot of sleeping ever since I came out of the Realm."  
Sleeping was the only way he could forget about his littlespace. Now that the voices had gone, they had been replaced by longings for his pacifier, or a cuddle with his blanket, or even the diaper. No matter what 'grown up' thing he did in his attempts to quash them - whether it was laundry or taxes or even a simple daddy-daughter day with Cassie, the longings were always there, needling away in the back of his mind. He had lost count of how many times he had had to bail on Cassie because of how overwhelming those feelings to be little had gotten.   
Hope studied Scott for what felt like a long time, flashes of that pitiful surveillance footage coming into her mind again, of Scott just... wandering around the house, aimless, drooling and sucking his thumb babyishly - about as far away from 'a lot of sleeping' as he could get. She knew Scott was lying, but she suspected Scott knew as much, too. "Yeah." she said instead, patting his shoulder. "Post-Realm aftershock. I wouldn't worry."

Scott pulled a face. "I forget, but are the chills part of post-Realm aftershock, too? I woke up really cold."

Hope, again, said nothing. Frustrated with the walls she appeared to have put up, Scott followed her gaze as she glanced downward. He caught sight of that familiar padding and his heart rose to his mouth, all sickly and sour as the realisation came to him. "I- I don't...!" He blustered toward Hope, eyes widening, cheeks igniting a humiliatingly bright shade of pink. "I- I'm not," His voice cracked, despite his desperate attempts to hold it back, which brought on some heart-wrenchingly pitiful lip quivering and a wave of glossy tears coming to his eyes. "I don't wear 'em, Hope, not really... just... just when that Realm stuff started happening..." His eyes watered, and he began to blub. "I'm notta baby."   
Ah... just like that, he suddenly sounded familiarly young again. Hope smiled fondly despite herself; it seemed as though Scott was trying so very hard to convince himself of that fact, rather than convince her of it. "Of course you aren't a baby, Scott." she agreed, free hand reaching up to tousle his messy brunet hair. He relaxed nearly instantly at her touch, submitting and falling still. She waited for that telltale bonelessness, tongue poking just-so behind her teeth.

"I.. I'm not?" Scott asked in a tiny voice, a tiny voice that was full of quivers and unsureness, as if he couldn't quite believe that she'd said as much. He looked toward Hope and his eyes, blue, shining, held so much disbelief in them.  
Hope shook her head, moving to grab the pacifier that she'd unwrapped and left on the bedside. "Just because you wear diapers, doesn't make you a baby."  
She placed the pacifier into his mouth, and he instinctively began to suckle at it. "Just because you have a pacifier, doesn't make you a baby."  
She leaned over, silently easing a new romper over his head. Stunned into compliance, Scott silently lifted his arms and watched as Hope tucked him into the blue patterned romper and buttoned up the metal snappers at the crotch. "Just because you wear a romper, doesn't make you a baby."  
She pulled the duvet over him - at which point Scott realised it wasn't a duvet, but instead the fleecy blanket that he had been missing so much. He clung onto it the second Hope brushed it against his cheeks, relishing the cool satin-y softness of the trim. He laid down slowly, curling up. After a short while Hope carefully lay next to him, continuing to card her fingers through his hair, coaxing his eyes to close. As they did, she began to cradle him. "Just because you have a blanket, doesn't make you a baby."   
Her voice was nothing more than a luxuriously sweet whisper. Scott had never been cradled like this; or at this point was too old to remember the times that he was, and all but melted back into her arms; a pleased smile crossing over his features. It was only now that he'd got to pay attention but... Hope smelled... nice. Perfume-y, all sharp and sweet rolled into one - like the way his mommy did when she cuddled him and read him If You Give A Moose a Muffin for the thousandth time before bedtime. "But all that stuff 's for babies." His voice was slurring slightly with sleepiness and his eyes were growing heavy, but still Scott fought.

"I have a wasp costume," Hope reminded gently, "Does that make me a real wasp? Do you think I sting all the bad guys with my bottom?"

It sounded so absurd that Scott giggled, which turned into a slightly hysterical, overtired kind of belly laugh that made his tummy hurt. Hope smiled proudly - hey, she always had been good with kids - and rested a hand on Scott's tummy, feeling it still faintly quivering with giggles. "Sssh." she soothed, and slowly Scott became calm, a yawn rising up and overtaking his features. "I think someone needs some sleep."

Scott sank against her, starting to sleepily suckle at his pacifier, working his tongue over the bulb so it didn't feel so... new. He nodded, fully agreeing. "Nigh', Hope."

“That’s, 'Mama' to you, jellybean," Hope joked lightly, pressing a whisper of a kiss to his forehead. At the familiar nickname, a nickname which encouraged a warmly glowing feeling to start pooling in his tummy, a smile drifted onto his face and stayed there. One hand gripped the soft satin of his blankie, the other fisted a handful of Hope's shirt and confined her to a solid two hours of laying and listening to the slow steady rhythm of Scott's breathing. She considered the fact that, due to Scott sleeping a majority of the day away, he was going to be massively, massively overtired tonight - and likely awake long into the early hours.

Though, as a sense of calm drifted over the room, she found she didn't quite mind.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ta-da!


End file.
